


pulled in a new direction

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, M/M, Praise Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 01:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: Morse won't use police issue handcuffs, so they have to improvise when it comes to tying Jakes to the bed.
Relationships: Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	pulled in a new direction

**Author's Note:**

> um... yeh no reason here tbh. i just think jakes totally has a thing for rough sex, and morse loves him enough to indulge him. he's not gonna refuse calling jakes names if that's what gets him off lol 
> 
> once again smut isnt my usual area but i try lol title perhaps inappropriately stolen from the addams family musical
> 
> WARNINGS/NOTES fpr - praise kink, sexy name calling and rough sexy stuff

Morse wouldn’t let him use handcuffs. Something about having to imagine Bright’s face whenever he signed them back in, but whatever the reason, it meant Jakes had to look for something else to be tied up with of an evening. He flat out refused when Morse waved one of his ties at him, because he had spent twenty quid on that one, no amount of sweet dicking was worth ruining that for. Morse’s ties on the other hand; Morse’s shitty hand-me-down ties, faded and twisted, but so gorgeously  _ Morse -  _ now they will do perfectly. He makes sure to slip it from Morse’s neck one night, in between long kisses and playful shoves, and strategically lie it out within easy reach. 

By the time Morse has him splayed out on the sheets, wearing only his shirt and socks, he’s eyeing the thing up and hoping Morse gets the hint. He doesn’t though, because Morse can’t see further than the edge of the bed most nights, so Jakes has to work for it a bit. He pulls Morse down by the chin, lays claim to his mouth like a man starved, lets his other hand roam Morse’s unfairly fully-clothed backside. He pinches and pulls, gropes and grabs until Morse growls against him and slaps his fingers. 

“You’re so fucking handsy,” he says, and Jakes almost lets out a laugh, the rush that sends down his spine. Instead he grabs Morse’s dick through his trousers, and whines. 

“Peter, stop it, you animal-” Morse groans, because Morse likes things to be slow and sensual and Jakes like to ruin everything by sticking his hands where they do not belong. He pushes till Morse grunts, sits back on his heels and pins Jakes down by the shoulders. 

“You’re a menace you know that?” He trails his hands down Jakes arms, all the way to his wrists. Jakes knows what’s coming now, and so does Morse is the look in his eyes is anything to go by. “You need to be taught a bloody lesson.” Cool fingers encircle Jakes wrists and all of sudden he finds his arms being pulled above his head, shoved roughly against the cold bars of the bed frame. There’s a split second pause, a softening of Morse’s hardened face, a shift of the head; asking. Jakes nods, jerks a thumb to the bedside table and Morse’s crumpled tie. Morse rolls his eyes, but grabs it, and by the time he’s turned back, his face is all cold and mean again, a nasty curl to his lips that makes Jakes want to please him, to make him happy. 

He lets Morse loop the fabric around his hands, then through the wire frame. It’s pulled tight, but there’s still wiggle room - until Morse grabs his hips and yanks him down the bed. The angle pulls at some sorely unused muscles in Jakes’ back, the spot between his shoulder blades pulling in just the right way, his arms pulled just a little too taunt, so he has to work to keep himself steady. It’s one of the best feelings in the world, second only to Morse straddling him as he strains against his bonds. 

As Morse sits, hips wavering ever so slightly just to mess with him, he slowly unbuttons his shirt. He makes sure to catch jakes’ eye, to make a show of it. He looks down his nose at him and smirks. 

“If you can be good,” he says, slowly, deliberately. “Then I’ll fuck you. But you have to be  _ good _ . You have to  _ wait,  _ and most importantly Peter, you have to be  _ quiet.  _ Understood?” Jakes swallows, because he’s lost his words apparently, but then Morse pinches his chest and he yelps.

“Yes sir.” Morse nods, sharp, and then flings his shirt over his shoulder. “Good.” 

Then he completely, and unfairly, begins to tear Jakes to pieces. He leans down, presses his body flush against Jakes, and kisses sharp little trails up and down his chest, occasionally running his hands down him too, fingers perhaps a little too rough, leaving brilliant streaks of red across the flat planes of his stomach. It’s delightfully teasing. 

Jakes pushes up against the touches, hips jutting as Morse claws at him. A hand comes down, to his hips and squeezes.

“Stop it,” comes the order, and Jakes grins, mouth open to snap back with something, but then Morse’s fingers pinch him, on the line between hip and thigh, and he hisses instead, tears stinging in his eyes. 

“Behave,” Morse purrs, and Jakes nods instead, because he’s  _ good.  _ Anything for Morse. It just seems so unfair that Jakes is stripped down to near nothing, and Morse is barely shirtless. Morse knows it winds him up too, and relishes in it. Instead of doing the kind thing, and getting himself naked like,  _ now _ , Morse tugs at Jakes’ shirt, where it has come unbuttoned, and pushes it up under Jakes. There’s no getting it off him now he’s tied up, unless Morse is hiding a knife on him, which Jakes thinks he maybe wouldn’t mind that much. So instead it’s left on, bunched up at his shoulders like some cheap rent boy, leaving the rest of him very much exposed to Morse’s steely gaze. 

“I like you like this,” Morse whispers against his neck, tongue doing wicked things across his throat. Jakes doesn’t say anything, because he’s good, but he looks curious. 

“All laid out, like this,” he tugs on one of Jakes’ arms, feels it pull against the tie. “All mine.” If Jakes wasn’t already painfully hard, he thinks those two words alone might have done it. As it is, he chokes, because there’s a thousand dirty words he wants to say to that (and a thousand pretty ones too) and he can’t say  _ any  _ of them because he wants this, he wants to be good for Morse. Morse seems to notice this, and he laughs. Something about Jakes’ peril amuses him, but honestly, Jakes couldn’t care less. That smile, the laugh that comes from some deep, hidden part of Morse, is so gorgeous he’ll suffer it a hundred times over. And really, is it suffering when Morse touches him like this? 

Even if he does insist on dragging it out, making every touch longer than the last. Every pinch a little harder, each tug of the hair a little meaner, testing. Jakes likes it a little rough, but Morse is still careful about it. Everything is done in that measured, Morse-ish way. They both know what they need to say, should it all become too much, this isn’t their first rodeo. But Jakes has, so far, had no cause to say anything, no chance to speak at all in fact, because Morse keeps shoving his tongue so far down his throat he can hardly breathe. It’s wonderful. The feeling makes his heart hammer against his chest, the adrenaline heightening every feeling Morse’s touch elicits. 

Eventually, Morse leans back, and he smiles in that sunny, toothy way he does. 

“So good Peter, aren’t you?” and Jakes nods. “My pretty little slut,” he says so sweetly, one hand cupping Jakes’ cheek. He’s everything and anything Morse wants him to be. 

“You’ve been good enough, I think.” His hands vanish for a second, the sound of his belt slipping from it’s loops followed by his zip. The mattress shifts beneath them, as Morse climbs off for a moment, slips from the bed to strip off. There’s a soft  _ thump  _ as the belt lands besides Jakes’ head, and just the action alone has his heart pounding. It’s nothing, really, they probably won’t even use it. But it’s there; a threat and a promise. Morse has found before, that Jakes wears those tight turtlenecks for a reason, he likes the tight collar, the pressure on his throat. If Jakes is bad, or perhaps if he is very, very good, Morse might see fit to- but he’s getting ahead of himself. 

He watches instead, as Morse pulls open a drawer, grabs what he needs and then finds a place on Jakes’ lap again. As he slicks up his hand, he snorts, kicking Jakes’ sock-clad foot. 

“All this aside, I should leave you right now for that,” but there’s no fire in it. Jakes smirks, because he knows that’s a lie, especially seeing how Morse is making quick work of preparing himself. It’s quite something, to watch Morse reach back and open himself up, to watch him go wide eyed and hazy, mouth agape. The little noises he makes are a treat, the gasps and hums as he stretches fingers inside himself. 

Jakes pulls hard on his bonds, because good lord does he want to help. He knows how to curve and pull at Morse to unravel him with his hands alone. It’s torture to watch him do it alone, which is perhaps why he’s making such a show of it. He even cries out Jakes’ name at one point, and Jakes nearly shifts the bed he pulls with such force. Morse laughs, another one of those gorgeous sounds, and relents. He crawls up Jakes, running a hand over his aching cock, before lining himself up and pressing down onto him. Jakes wants to cry. Morse presses down, and the sound he makes is sinful, and it sends a twinge right to Jakes’ dick. He picks up speed, riding him till his eyes glaze over and his breath comes sharp. 

It’s brilliant, but also fucking awful, because Morse is so tight and hot and wonderful but it’s not enough, he needs more. He needs to grab those hips and hold them steady, so he can pin Morse down and fuck him till his legs are weak. Every muscle in him screams to touch Morse, and every part that already is, is singing. All sensation outside of Morse is lost, save for the sharp sting at his wrists as the tie cuts into his skin. He wants to scream, torn between wanting to rip the thing off so he can touch Morse, and the brilliant way it forces him to concentrate on the sensation of Morse’s all around him. 

Morse has started to lose some of his cool, a flush across his cheeks and nose, and sweat on his face as he fucks himself senseless on Jakes dick. His face is smashed against Jakes neck, then his face, and sometimes his arm, because he cannot sit still, and neither can he shut up. 

“God yes Peter, you’re so good,” he babbles. “Lovely, aren’t you? So good for me, come on darling- that’s it-” He grunts as Jakes does his best to thrust into him. Jakes nods, and can’t help answering. 

“Yours, Morse, all yours; fuck me-” he says before snapping his jaw shut. Morse laughs, breathy against his ear, and then tuts. 

“You really can’t keep it shut though,?” He bites at Jakes’ ear. “Mouthy little slag aren’t you? Dirty too.” A hand comes up, and fingers press against Jakes’ lips. It takes everything in him not to part his lips and bite down on them, but he manages, just about. These words shouldn't excite him, they shouldn't have him straining to push deeper into Morse and yet they do. So Morse calls him all sorts as he takes Jakes deeper. 

“Good little slut,” he cries, head thrown back. 

“Fucking trollop,” he whispers against his sweat-soaked face. “Come for me, bitch.” 

When he can sense Jakes tighten, when he knows he’s teetering on the edge, he bites his lip and calls him a whore. It’s all he needs to come undone completely, to the sweet sound of Morse telling him how handsome he is when he comes. Jakes melts into it, lapping up every word Morse says, till the last. 

“Darling,” he says, as he falls apart on his chest. 

There’s a long stretch then, the only sound their breathing. It’s all soft and blurry, that post-sex buzz, but Jakes still has his hands about his head, and the tie is really quite sharp against his wrists now. Morse smiles lazily as he crawls up the bed, unpicking the knot carefully. 

Jakes lets his hands fall heavy, but Morse catches them. He pulls them down gently, running a gentle thumb across bright red marks. He kisses each wrist, carefully, then each hand. He kisses up each palm, along each finger. He grabs a pot of soothing gel, and massages the cooling balm against inflamed skin. Jaes watches it all in a sort of daydream-like haze. Morse is so good to him, he thinks.To indulge him like this, all his weird little quirks, he embraces them all. He’ll be mean because it’s what gets Jakes going, he’ll hurt him because he wants to be hurt, all with such care. 

By the time Morse is done, Jakes barely feels a thing. Morse slumps down beside him, pulls the covers up and flings them across both their legs. Jakes watches as he settles, and then as Morse shuffles over and drapes himself over Jakes, chin on his chest. They share a look, then a smile, and then Morse reaches in for a kiss. It’s soft and gentle, and Jakes relishes in the chance to curl his fingers through Morse’s hair again. When they part, Morse is pink. 

“Say something Peter,” he says, burying his head in Jakes’ neck. Jakes lips move wordlessly for a moment, voice lost still. It takes a while for his brain to switch back on, to remind himself he can talk now. He smiles. He wraps a hand around Morse’s waist and pulls him in closer. 

“I love you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> id love to hear thoughts on this loool


End file.
